A Gaywork Gayrange
by Ad Vesperum
Summary: This is a Slash OC story involving a sort of Jean-Grey like male OC and Captain America. Rated M just to be super safe (I'm awful at rating things).
1. Vol1:A Blast from the Past Introduction

"Alright, I have a question for you, one which you don't have to answer. I feel like if you don't answer it though, you're kind of answering it, you know.."

They had just passed the sign that told them they were now in New Jersey, the garden state. Rogers had hot wired a car, which he was now driving, with Natasha taking the co-driver's seat and Michael settling in the back.

"What?"

"Was that your first kiss since 1945?", Romanoff was smiling now.

"That bad, huh?"

"I didn't say that."  
"Well it kinda sounds like that's what you're saying."

"No. I didn't, I just wondered how much practice you've had.."

"No, I don't need to practice.."  
Michael contemplated not interrupting their banter, but soon enough found himself interrupting: "Didn't you, though?"

He could see Rodger's gaze upon him in the rearview mirror, by his expression the former soldier turned superhero was probably silently willing him to stop talking.

Michael didn't stop, instead he asked: "What, you don't remember? I'm hurt."

Now Rogers opened his mouth to reply, but Natasha was faster: "I think I want to hear that story."

Her eyes met his and Michael flashed her a smile. Her expression remained nondescript.

"Well, I guess our friend Steve doesn't like to think about it, but there was that one evening in this small pub we went to with Tony, just after the New York incident. We were getting shitfaced and when we left didn't split up right away."

He savored the situation for a second. There was Black Widow, the woman who knew everything, intently listening to every word he was saying, apparently trying to evaluate every word, to distinguish truth from embellishment. And Captain America, the first Avenger, shield of the nation, from the look of it feeling cornered, unwilling to listen and unable to ignore.

"When Tony went home to Pepper, my buddy Steve Rogers and I decided to stick around a little while longer. We go to his place to drink a few more beer, only he had forgotten that his fridge was empty. And then. Well what can I say, thirteen minutes later I find myself on my back, his waist between my thighs, working his way to the peak. And I do think I remember us sharing at least one kiss that night."

Romanoff didn't seem shocked, nor grossed out or even surprised, but he hadn't expected her to. She just calmly turned toward Rogers and asked nonchalantly, if a little amused: "Is that true?"  
The former soldier's eye stayed on the road, which was a good excuse to avoid ye contact when he replied mechanically: "I don't know."  
Then, a little more certain: "I guess I was too drunk to remember."

Michael knew that was the time to end this conversation, change the subject and move on, but now he was feeling too in control to let it go: "Well you didn't seem all that drunk. Are you sure you don't remember?"  
This time Rodger's eyes met his when he answered sternly: "Maybe you played one of your mind games on me. Everyone knows how persuasive you can be."  
He was right, Michael himself had thought that more than a few times. It did seem out of character for a, to his knowledge, straight man to have sex with him out of the blue. And since his telepathic powers included meddling with people's thoughts, which more often than not happened subconsciously, there was an actual chance that he had 'persuaded' the Avenger to bare all.

"Yeah, maybe", he answered quietly. This wasn't how he had pictured the conversation in his head, although he knew that he should have expected it. Neither of the people on the front seats was stupid.

Black widow chuckled: "Are you saying you raped Captain America?"

Was he?

* * *

The conversation subsided, and by the time Rogers and Natasha continued to talk Michael had stopped paying attention. He wasn't participating in the continuing talk, he also wasn't sulking, as Natasha suggested at one point. He was thinking.

Telepathic mind control, especially if it was subconscious on his part, had always been a double edged sword, which was why Michael had always tried to suppress it.

Sure, he could get what he wanted from people, but he would always know that it was fake. It wasn't their true emotions and reactions, but his own will that made them respond the way they did.

A show, made by himself for himself and only enjoyable to himself, that was the core of it.

It was, for the most part in his daily life, one of his more useless powers.

* * *

They finally stopped at an Army base, the place where the signal they were following had been located. Into the secret shield bureau, disguised as a storage facility they went, then downward into the secret super computer room, disguised as another secret elevator, disguised as a wall.

A lot of secrets within one building.

The large computer made a buzzing noise when he sprung to life:

**Rogers, Steven.**

**born 1918. **

**Romanoff, Natalia Alianovna.**

**born 1984. **

**Smith, Michael James.**

**Born 1987**

"Sounds like a recording", Natasha (Natalia?) said.

**I am not a recording, Fräulein.**

The computer's German accent was thick, exorbitant and sounded distinctly fake.

**I may not be the man I was when the captain took me prisoner in 1945...**

In that moment something grabbed Michael's attention and he zoned out. There was more to this room, he was sure of that. Was it in the walls, yet another secret lair? No, it wasn't something tangible, not even something right now. This sense was his third eye kicking in, something seemed about to happen.

He tried to concentrate harder, get a clearer look into the future, but something was clouding his view, like a thick blanket over his eyes. Again he concentrated, tried to look past the fog, but all he could see then was fire.

Suddenly his precognition send a jolt of pain through his body, it was like he tore apart from inside, it was draining his energy and forcing him to his knees.

He had never felt something like this, he would sometimes receive vague emotions or faint feelings from the future, never something this extreme.

And then, all hell broke loose.

The door they had come in through shut close, Rogers threw his shield to no avail, it was already too late. Natasha informed them that a missile was about to hit them, and Rogers pulled open a grille on the ground.

He and Natasha jumped inside, he could see Rogers looking for Michael to follow, but there was no time. Michael himself was still on his knees, several feet away from his two teammates, and the missile was about to hit.  
He saw cap raising the striped shield to protect himself and Natasha, then he felt the shockwave of a large explosion hitting him. He erected a telekinetic shield just in time, protecting him from the fireball which reached him the very next moment, even though he knew it was futile.

The explosion, he could block, but they were deep beneath the ground and there was a now a lot of earth, mixed with rock and concrete, coming his way.

He had heard many times that a person could see their life fly by their eyes the moment they died.  
It wasn't like that for him.

He did see a life, but it was not the life he remembered. It was everything he could have had, had he survived. It was somehow very fitting for him, since the first power he had developed had been his third eye.

He saw the good, the bad, how it all came together to form a worthwhile existence. He saw himself grow old, find new friends, make enemies.

There was love in his future, a thing he had always thought absent from his life. There was hate as well, although not nearly as much as he would have guessed.

He didn't want it to end, clung to it in his moment of need.

And then

Nothing.


	2. Vol1 Ch1 Start At The Beginning

Michael would always say that his powers manifested on his ninetieth birthday, but that was not entirely true. In fact, he had had some abilities since he was a child, like the slight telekinetic barrier that automatically kicked in when he was in danger, safeguarding him from minor harm. He also could sometimes tell certain outcomes before they happened, although the lines between intuition and precognition blurred at some point. But disregarding that, the day he first had a real vision was his ninetieth birthday, or, to be more precise, the night he was seeing in his ninetieth birthday.

It was already ten o clock and he was sitting in Terry's neat living room, waiting for her to get ready and their friend Jamie to come over. Absentmindedly he took a statuette from on of her shelves and ran his thumb over its fine engravings. It was a wooden mermaid, kind of tacky and strangely out of place in the otherwise modern room. He sat it down on the glass table next to the black leather sofa he was sitting on and leaned back. He should have known better than to be on time, after all he had spent the past five years with these two.

After another five minutes Terry apparently had finished trying on clothes and entered the room. She smiled at his annoyed expression and asked cheerfully: "Well? What do you think?"

She was wearing a shoulderless, black and white cropped shirt over a dark top. Short pants and patterned tights. Her stunning red hair was shorter since he had last seen her, now a tousled mane, playfully encasing her face and reaching down to her shoulders. There was little make-up to account for, only a little foundation, eye liner and the red lipstick she loved, that matcher her hair color almost perfectly. But he would never tell her that she was one of the most beautiful girls he had ever met.

"You look fine, now let's get ready."  
She knew him well and didn't take real offense, holding out her hand to help him up, then pulling him into a quick embrace: "Can't you at least once say something like 'Omg, you look so fabulous girl!' ?"  
He sneered as they pulled apart: "I'm not that gay."

He slipped into the dark brown leather jacket he had bought last fall and still loved, while Terry put on her knee length boots, an ebony jeans jacket and the straw hat that her last boyfriend had gotten her.

"When is Jamie coming?"

"He wants us to pick him up on our way to the subway."  
Michael sighed, this could only mean more waiting. Sourly he said: "He won't be ready when we get there."  
They went anyways, out the apartment, down the stairs and onto the street. They were living in one of the cheaper city blocks, not able to afford anything else on their current budget, and it showed. The houses were ugly and six to eight stories high, gray and cream colored, plastered, concrete walls, covered in dirt, one building indistinguishable from the other. They crossed the street and walked another mere two hundred meters until they reached number 68, where Jamie lived. And sure enough, he asked them if they wanted to come up because he wasn't ready. Climbing to the fifth floor Michael felt his good mood dissipate. The unmistakable sound of the shower echoed through the messy apartment as they entered, which didn't help in making him feel better.

After another ten minutes, or so, Jamie finally exited the bathroom and greeted his friends. He was wrapped in a towel, dark hair not quite dry, and very much unready to leave. Terry, who was standing next to the kitchen table, was pulled into a hug as Jamie jokingly exclaimed: "Well, I was hoping you'd join me."  
"Just get dressed", Michael butted in, sitting on a kitchen table, staring a the wall, "I don't want to spend the rest of the night here."  
He heard steps, then felt Jamie wrapping his arms around him from behind: "Aaw, I'm sorry princess but Tara called about her latest crush, that douche from work and I had to give her some relationship-building advice. You'll be in a club at midnight, promise."  
The man left, and returned surprisingly fast, dressed in an apparent hand-me-down white T-shirt with the face of a woman printed on the front and washed out Jeans. "You think I need a scarf?"  
Terry gave him the sweetest smile as she answered: "Your scarves make you look like a pretentious asshole."  
"It's warm", Michael replied also, just to get this over with as fast as possible.

And Another five minutes they were again on the road, leaving Jamie's apartment-building, then entering the subway.

* * *

Michael fell onto the couch, between his friends. They were in the Infinite, one of their favorite clubs, and he had spent the last thirty minutes or so on the dancefloor. Jamie was smoking yet again, while Terry hummed along with the current tune, intently looking at her watch. Michael felt drunk, but in a good way, it made him cheer up and forget the bumpy evening.

Now Terry was counting down. He turned towards her and asked: "What are you doing?"

She signaled him not to say anything by pointing a finger in the air, then continued counting. "5, 4, 3, 2, 1..."

Suddenly she drew him into a tight embrace and shouted: "Happy Birthday!"  
"Right", Michael said dumbly, "That's why we are here."  
Jamie snickered, then ruffled his hair: "See, I told you we'd be partying in time."

That moment, everything seemed perfect. And then, Michael saw the plain falling out of the sky in the outskirts of L.A, a vision which he accredited to being drunk.

He would hear about the plane crash three weeks later on the news, at which moment he would start to question his world view.

* * *

Michael was used to waking up in strange places. Since the night of his ninetieth birthday he had changed apartments four times and more often than not slept in Hotels. Today he was in a hotel, too, but it was more expensive than any other he had seen. His room was large, the bed comfortable and big enough for three people. Everything was held in a noble cream and brown color scheme, the walls and ceiling were paneled with wood, the floor covered in a soft carpet. The furniture was solid wood as well. There were two doors, one led to the hall, the other to the bathroom, which was held in mostly white and gold colors. He had a shower and a bathtub, the toilet seat could clean itself and the collection of shower gel and shampoo was impressively extensive.

He could never afford such a luxurious hotel, but working with shield occasionally had its merits. A switch next to his bed opened the blinds that had covered the glass wall that was his window and the light of a rising sun enveloped the room in its warm embrace. Michael got off the bed and stood there for a second, digging his bare toes into the carpet. On his way to the bathroom he picked up his morning joint and, lighting it, went to the sink and looked into the mirror. He barely recognized the man staring back at him, it was a strange thing every morning, seeing himself age while his life seemed frozen in time. His reflection stared at him with clouded, green eyes, already red at the edges, he would have to take his eye-drops later. He also would have to shave, if he was to start his first real assignment, he couldn't look like a homeless person. His dreads needed some work, too, they were too dry and starting to come apart at some points. He couldn't make himself less pale, though, so the ghostly appearance would have to stay.

A good twenty minutes later he was ready and dressed, sitting in the hotel lobby, waiting for Agent Coulson to pick him up. Michael had nothing against the man, although he felt like the Shield employee was looking down on him. And sure enough, when Coulson arrived, he looked at Michael in a distasteful manner and asked: "Didn't director Fury ask you to dress nicely?"  
Michael looked down at himself. He was wearing his treasured, if slightly worn out, leather jacket over a grey-blue T-shirt on which he had imprinted the Eagle of Shield. He had even put on three quarter Jeans. Wearing sandals was possibly a doubtful decision, but it was a hot day and he didn't feel like wearing sturdy shoes. So he looked back up and answered: "I thought I was dressed nicely."

Coulson didn't comment further but instead signaled him to follow and left the hotel. The street was crowded and Michael had trouble keeping up with the Agent. Then they went right, into a more quiet alley, after which they crossed a few bigger streets until they arrived at a plaza, on which a helicopter was parked. With it, they went to a small airport nearby, where the two of them boarded a jet. Inside sat a blond man, whose face was familiar, although Michael couldn't quite pinpoint where he had seen it. To his annoyance the man was dressed little better than he himself, which Coulson didn't seem to mind.

"hello, I'm Steve Rogers", the man said and held out a hand to him, which Michael eyed for a second, then shook it, "Nice too met you."

So that was it, Steve Rogers, aka. As Captain America, apparently now part of shield. He wondered why Fury never said anything about him. When their hands parted he got a quick glimpse of Cap's thoughts, but didn't catch anything worth remembering: "Hey, I'm Michael Smith."  
He sat down and rolled himself another joint, as more and more thoughts were dripping in from Cap, Coulson and the Pilot. He saw Rogers furrow his brow when he lit it. The man had enhanced senses, he remembered. When he took his second hit, Rogers spoke up: "That's not a cigarette."  
"You're right", Michael answered monotonously, he had had this conversation with almost everyone at Shield.

"Are you smoking Marijuana right now?"  
He nodded and said lazily: "Fury's cool with it, helps me keep your thoughts to yourself, if you know what I mean."  
"Excuse me?", apparently the Captain didn't.

Coulson joined in and explained in his place: "Mr. Smith, also known as subject 305, is a genetic anomaly, capable of feats of Telepathy, telekinesis and precognition."  
That didn't help though, from the look on his face Michael was sure that Rogers didn't understand even half the words Coulson said. So he explained himself: "He means that I can read thoughts, move stuff with thoughts and see the future. Smoking this sort of helps me keeping my powers in check. I don't wanna see your sexual fantasies involving Olivia de Havillandand an M3A3 Stuart."

"That's really funny", Coulson replied for the less than impressed looking Rogers, then handed them two tablets: "On here is some information regarding some people you will work with. Try and finish reading it until we arrive, that would make things easier."  
Michael looked out the window, watching the Ocean fly by, when Rogers suddenly started talking: "How did you get on this project, Smith? You don't seem very high profile."  
He contemplated the question for a second, then answered without turning around: "I told Nick Fury some bad stuff that was gonna happen. Didn't take me serious. Then my predictions came true and they decided to keep me around."  
Rogers shuffled in his seat: "How did you find him? Nick Fury is like a ghost from what I heard."  
"Kept an eye on his future, foresaw the one day he actually met someone in a cafe in New York, showed up there on time, bam."

Slowly, the giant aircraft carrier came in sight, signaling the end of their trip.


	3. Vol1 Ch2 Stand By Me

"I'm not going until you come with me. What's your problem anyway?", at least he had stopped shouting, "Terry asked you like two month ago and you said yes. And you're telling her now you can't come the day of the party?"

"I'm sorry", Michael didn't know what to say to that, "Just give her my present and tell her I'm sorry. I just can't see anyone right now."  
"You can't just stop being with people. I'm here right now", Jamie, arms still crossed in front of his chest, took one step towards him, which made Michael inch back against the wall of his apartment. Then he asked again: "What's your problem?"  
Michael shook his head: "You're here because you barged in uninvited and started shouting at me. Look, I'm having a rough week, and I don't want to talk about it. Is that alright?"

Jamie's expression became less harsh at that remark: "I didn't mean to shout, you know that. But you're being frustrating right now. I didn't know you had a bad week, but that's no excuse to treat your friends that way. What happened last Monday anyway?"  
The plane crash. But Michael wasn't about to tell him that, instead he asked back: "Why Monday?"

Jamie took another step towards him and was now almost in reach: "Because terry and I can pinpoint your mood shift down to the hour. And we do, because we still care about you, which is why I am here."  
Michael didn't want to hear this, not now. They didn't know, if they did Jamie wouldn't be here and Terry wouldn't want him at her damned birthday party. He looked the other man in the eyes, trying to discern what he had to say to make him leave. Then he answered with a sigh: "Look, I will tell you what's going on when I know myself. But I don't, so stop asking. Take my present and tell Terry that I'm sorry. You can't help me, she can't help me, and going to that party won't help either."

Jamie's outstretched hand was now touching the wall beside his shoulder.

"Look, Mike, I could stick around for another hour or two. Cheer you up. Then we go over and party?"  
Michael lay one hand on Jamie's chest, softly pushing him away.  
"Didn't you say something about wanting to settle down? That's not going to happen with me."

Jamie didn't give in: "This is an exception. Also we've had sex all the time in high school, so it doesn't count."  
He remembered the night of his birthday to have been terrific, also he knew he had to get his present to Terry or his whole plan would fall to pieces. That was also the moment he was supposed to curse his penis for deciding against his brain, but strangely he didn't mind all that much. Everything was going down the drain anyways, so what was a little fun going to do. He could at least make his end of days count for something. He removed his hand from Jamie and leaned against him.

It was nice, having someone's full attention that way. Michael could almost

forget everything that had happened. Jamie's kiss still felt familiar, the two of them hadn't gotten much different since the good old days. Although his friend did gain some weight, losing that high metabolism slimness he had had during puberty. Michael let himself be pressed against the wall, it felt safe and he needed that. The sex was better than a while ago. They knew each other good enough, had some more practice and stamina now. Teenage sex had been rushed and sloppy, this felt secure and positively intimate. He wasn't in love with Jamie, he suddenly thought, when they were laying next to each other on his bed, their bodies intertwined in one another, still gliding through the afterglow like a ship on a perfectly still ocean. But losing such a good friend wasn't better than loosing a lover, it hurt just the same.

Jamie connected their forehead and asked quietly: "You're not going to tell me what's going on?"

Michael smiled: "No."

* * *

"You homos really took your time! Didn't know any of you could last that long!"

Terry was already more than a little tipsy when they arrived at her apartment. She drew Jamie into an embrace first, giving him a quick kiss and saying: "Thanks for bringing him with you, hon."

She turned to Michael and gave him the biggest of smiles before cupping his face in her hands and saying: "I don't ever wanna hear about you not coming to a party of mine ever again!"

He couldn't help but smile at her, before handing her an envelope and giving her a hug: "Happy Birthday, Terry."  
She opened it, slowly reading through the words before looking at him, amazement showing on her face: "is that?"  
"You said you wanted to take a trip to Europe once you had a relationship. Just want to remind you that we love you more than anyone else."  
She practically jumped onto Michael, crushing him with her arms: "hank you so much!"

Jamie chuckled, then remarked toward Michael: "And you didn't want to come here because..?"

It was getting harder by the minute to keep the thoughts out, especially when he was in the presence of so many people. And Terry loved big parties. There were about ten people he could name, about the same amount he had seen before and once more as many he had no recollection of. The small apartment was packed, to say the least. And each and every one of these people was thinking something. Michael mostly sat on the sofa, trying not to talk to anyone in particular. It was getting harder for him to separate thought from spoken word and he didn't want to seem weird answering someone's inner monologue. This was getting exhausting.

* * *

"Tell me again why I'm not in Germany right now?"  
They were on the bridge of the Helicarrier. Fury was standing in his usual spot, while Michael sat at the table behind him.

"Because, Mister Smith, you have a drug Problem, and are not greenlit for any field work at the moment", answered Fury, without looking at him and a certain sternness in his voice.

Michael sighed and said: "Weed's not all that bad."  
"I'm not talking about your consumption of Marijuana", now the director of S.H.I.E.L.D turned around and signaled Maria to take his position. He walked towards the table, hands behind his back and thoughtfully looked at the man before him. After a pause he repeated: "This is not about Marijuana at all. You know that we are monitoring you and everyone you have contact with."  
Michael shrugged and sat up straight: "So?"  
Fury continued: "On January the 1. of this year, you consumed a total of 60mg Dextroamphetamine. The same of which you took on March the 6. and March the 13. On January the 7. you consumed 500ug LysergicAcid Diethylamide, then 400ug on February the 2. and February the 25. and then again 500ug on March the 4. On February the 13. you took 15mg Methamphetamine Hydrochloride, do I need to continue?"  
"You don't."

"Now then, Mister Smith, I trust you understand why I didn't send you to Germany. And I expect you to sort out this aspect of your life quickly. We do have a psychologist on board, should you feel the need to talk to anyone. The world has bigger problems than your personal life right now, and I might need you in action soon."  
Michael looked up at Fury, a lump slowly building in his throat. He nodded, then said: "I understand. It is late, do I have permission to leave for my quarters?"  
"Granted."

* * *

_He was walking, although he didn't know where to or why.  
With him were three others. One of them was purple and large, with furrows on his chin. One had a grandiose purple hat on his head and glowing eyes. The third was quite normal looking, with black hair and white clothes. _

"_Where are we going again?", his voice seemed weird, out of place._

_The purple one turned and said in his deep, rumbling voice: "Dude, we're off to look for that dead body, you don't remember?"  
Of course, he did remember now. They were almost there, too. Just down to the lake and they were there. He had never before seen a dead person. It was strange, lifelike, but at the same time inanimate. The man with the hat willed away some leaves from the person's head and now Michael could see his face. His own face. On the dead body. What did that mean, was this his twin, his long lost brother?  
Suddenly an uneasy feeling took hold in his head and he walked over to the lake. His reflection was different. Something about it seemed off. And then he realized what it was. His reflection didn't show skin and hair, but flames. His entire body was made of fire. He also looked like a bird. _

* * *

Michael woke up with a sense of foreboding. They had brought something from Germany, something which shouldn't be on the ship. He put on the black Shield Uniform, the only clean clothes he could find in the cell-like room, even though it was a little too large for his frame. Then he trailed down a corridor, until he bumped into Natasha Romanoff, the spy he had met on several occasions before, who was walking into the opposite direction. She seemed hurried, so he asked quickly: "What happened?"  
She looked at Michael as though she didn't quite remember him, then answered with a sense of unease, which was unusual for her: "They brought in Loki. I need to speak to Fury."

So that was it. Michael hadn't been on the ship before, so he concentrated on the past. Where would they put a God, where did they build a holding cell? His third eye was his strongest power, he could easily see into the future and past of anyone he concentrated on. It was almost like putting on glasses to read, everything became clear. They had constructed the ship with several cells in mind, but the only that could hold Loki would be.  
"The holding cell they build for the Hulk", he said out loud, thankfully there was no one present to hear it. He took a walk down the corridor to his left, focusing on the memory of the blueprints that he had seen in Fury's hand. After a few minutes he arrived at the Thing, made of see-through plastic.

"I'd thought you'd come sooner", said the Person inside. Loki was clothed in green, with black hair and a condescending look on his face, "Subject 305, the unpredictable psychic, as they call you."  
Michael was only a few steps away from the Man, who was so capable of performing magic feats far beyond what he could do. Loki apparently read that thought and said, in a lighthearted manner: "You think yourself a person with powers, yet you have no idea what true power is."  
He shrugged, noting: "I can't read your thoughts. Why is that?"  
"I am a God after all. Can a mouse know the thoughts of the eagle about to strike? Of course not."  
"So your superpower are bad metaphors", Michael didn't like this feeling, something was about to happen, but he couldn't focus ever since he was in the presence of this person. He needed some weed really bad, but he knew he shouldn't make Fury mad. And then the entire ship was shaken by an explosion.  
Loki smiled: "It has begun. Time for you to start running."


	4. Vol1 Ch3 Let Me Go

Michael was getting more frustrated by the minute. Some kind of accident on the highway had shut down traffic completely, and now, after waiting for quite some time in the stop and go machine, he had to take a longer route to the airport, which cost him another thirty minutes. And everything was his own fault, as he had to stay longer at work today. The files his boss had given him a few weeks ago were due tomorrow, and he didn't have the heart to let the firm down at his last day of work. His phone on the passenger seat was vibrating constantly, no doubt because of Jamie's angry messages. It had been hard telling him and Terry that he wouldn't make the trip, even with an orgy of reasons why he couldn't come. There had been a few things that were happening, none of which actually warranted canceling his trip to Europe, but he didn't have to tell his friends that. Firstly, his mother's birthday was coming up, which he would usually ignore completely, secondly his boss had fallen ill, which was also part of the reason that he was late right now. And neither Jamie nor Terry knew that he had quit his Job after he discovered his abilities. Lastly, his brother Jonathan had invited him to Portland to attend his wedding.

Slowly the fields and trees outside his car window moved by. Too slowly for his liking. There was some stupid feel-good song playing on the radio, the air outside was warm and the sun was laughing down at him with no cloud in sight. This didn't feel like goodbye.

When he finally reached the airport, he had to take the first pay-for parking spot he could find, then shove through the crowd in the Lobby. He had never quite liked this airport, it was sterile and gray, with reflective floors and not a single indoor plant to balance out the atmosphere.

Finally he reached the spot they were supposed to meet at, and true enough, there was Terry, in her favorite flower patterned dress, a huge Rucksack on her back. Next to her stood Jamie, who apparently thought his yellow T-shirt and blue Jeans were a good match, sporting a large travel bag and smaller backpack.  
"Well", Jamie said cheerily, trying to lighten the mood once they were gathered at the boarding area, "I guess I'll see you next month. Take care."  
It felt strange to Michael, knowing this would be the last time he would embrace his best friend. It felt wrong.

Terry waited until Jamie was outside hearing range. She stepped closer to Michael and lay her arms around him, asking tentatively: "You won't be here when we come back, will you?"  
OF course she had figured it out, she always knew everything about Michael without him having to spell it out. Defeated he drew back and shook his head, answering with a lump in his chest: "No. I suppose I won't."

"Please tell Jamie", she inquired, not without getting a bit husky, "I can't deal with him when he finds out. I guess I would say 'don't go', but I know your answer."  
Michael didn't want to hear that, he wanted her to hug him and leave. This was supposed to be quick and painless, a clean cut. He willed her to turn around.

And without saying another word she did.

Saying goodbye to his only friends, the people he cared most about in this world, had left a numb feeling in Michael's stomach. The air in his car was stuffy and hot, and he could feel drops of sweat slowly running down the back of his neck. His throat was bone dry and his eyes burned. As soon as he spotted a food sign he turned his car and left the highway, both to refuel and get some air before he returned home to clear out his apartment.

The rest spot was dusty and sort of seedy, although not as seedy as it would have been, were his life a horror movie. He entered the store to pay for fuel and buy something to drink. His eyes needed some time to adjust to the gloomy indoors and as he stood there at the door for a few seconds he heard someone eyeing him up. Or rather he heard someone think about eyeing him up. He followed the thought and found himself looking at a man, somewhat taller, somewhat older than himself, with dark, messy hair. In the man's hands were a few items he had apparently just bought, including a paper bag, no doubt containing a bottle of liquor. Michael briefly wondered what the odds were of him running into a gay guy out here in the middle of nowhere, but quickly dismissed the thought.

Michael finished up his business and, taking a sip from his bottle of water, went back outside. The sun was still at the zenith, beaming a painfully bright light down at him and coating everything in a white glow. Michael didn't want to think about the past hours. Desperately he was trying to focus on something else, when the man from the store sprung to his mind. And there he was, too standing in front of a large truck. Michael sat down on a bench in front of the store and watched the guy slowly taking out a cigarette, then lighting it. Something bothered him about the thoughts he had picked up in the store, something that seemed off.

Almost intuitively Michael's mind stretched, allowing the man's thoughts into his own consciousness. He let go of his restrains, delving deeper into the man, James', psyche, laying out his memories and thoughts like a fragmented picture, the mosaic of a conscious mind.

And there he found it, like a bonfire, the thought that had been itching in his mind. The dim flicker now a bonfire of awareness. The point at which James had stopped deciding for himself. He hadn't been interested in Michael. Michael had wanted him to be interested and had twisted the man's thoughts to make it so.

And suddenly, everything that had happened since his birthday made sense. Jamie hadn't given up on settling down to pursue a sexual relationship with him, Michael had made him. Terry hadn't dropped the issue of him leaving out of her own choice, Michael had made her.

He had taken his own friends' freedom.

Michael returned to his car.

He left his now empty apartment at sunset.

* * *

The shifting ground was making it hard to concentrate. Michael was running through the confusing maze of identical corridors that comprised the largest part of the helicarrier. More than once he was thrown off balance, forced to rely solely on his psychic powers to keep himself upright. He had found out quite some time ago that it was much easier to lift himself up with telekinesis than any other object. It was like an extension of his body, invisible muscles and nerves that he could trigger at will. He could even lift himself into the air for some seconds, even though that was quite straining.

Suddenly gravity shifted, as if the ship was loosing height, and Michael was hurled against a wall. He was seeing stars and couldn't move, when suddenly a thought invaded his frantic mind.  
S.H.I.E.L.D. was currently at war with Loki, who, at the moment, seemed to have the upper hand. Even imprisoned as he was. The last month S.H.I.E.L.D. had had him under constant surveillance, which had Michael curse his own decision to approach Fury in the first place. But as it was now, they would be otherwise occupied, unable to focus on one superhuman for quite some time. This was his chance to get abroad, hide in Europe or Asia, be off the radar for some time. No one wanted him here, anyways. He could just remove himself from the equation, try and live a normal life, try and sort things out at a place where everything was a little less crazy.

He was sick of being feared, he was sick of people knowing too much about him. He wanted normalcy, even if that concept was a fake. Fury would no doubt punish him, if they ever met again. They probably would, Michael knew well enough how efficient S.H.I.E.L.D. was at gathering information. But wasn't a minute of freedom worth that?

He was yanked out of his stupor when the ship stabilized. Quickly he ran through yet another godforsaken corridor, before coming to an abrupt halt when he almost fell over a red metal body. He recognized the armor of Tony Stark, the famous Ironman. It was lying on its back, lights fading as it slowly shut down, an unknown soldier laying next to it, apparently passed out.

"What are you doing here?"

He recognized the voice. It belonged to Steve Rodgers, Captain America. The man in question was standing in front of a huge puncture in the hull of the helicarrier. It was like heaven had send him a signal. A literal way out. Just what he needed. Michael put on a smile and answered: "I'm here to help. I can fix the gap."

Rodgers didn't seem very convinced. He crossed his arms in front of his chest and made no move to let Michael past him. Sternly he said once more: "Why are you really here?"  
Michael didn't want to argue. Forcefully he cracked open the restraints around his telepathy, which was easier since he hadn't had any weed since he arrived on the carrier. Then he grabbed Captain America's mind and send him a clear message. _Let me pass._

Without further Question, the former soldier stepped aside. Michael almost felt a little disappointed, fighting the mind of a superhero had promised to be a little more challenging. Alas, maybe this man was no real superhero. Just a self-righteous guy on advanced steroids. He slowly stepped over Ironman's body and went to the opening. The ground was awfully far below him, but Michael was confident in his ability to stop his own momentum enough to land on the ground safely. At least he could avoid death or serious injuries.  
He was about to step over the edge, when his mind was soaked in white pain, like the flash of a camera in the darkness. A hand grabbed the back of the uniform he was wearing and yanked him backwards into the hallway. Another hand grabbed one of his arms and he was forcefully pushed against a wall.

He couldn't look at his attacker, but his mind picked up a few thoughts and he could put the rest in place.

Rodger's had broken out of his control, mentally or physically, Michael couldn't deduce, and was now pissed.

Apparently the hero still couldn't say anything, especially since the wave of pain was leaving Michael's mind, but Michael picked up a few clear thoughts directed at him.

_Stop whatever you are doing to my head. _

Michael laughed breathlessly and answered: "Dude, relax. You are getting your body back as soon as I'm out of here."

He was spun around, an arm pressed against his throat. Consciousness was leaving him slowly, when another jolt of pain struck him once again, causing him to lash out telekinetically. The pressure on his body subsided, when sight returned he saw Rodgers now leaning against the opposite wall, struggling with staying aware himself. This wasn't normal, what was happening?  
Rodgers made a move, but Michael quickly bombarded his conscious and unconscious with random thoughts until the man stopped in his tracks halfway through the hallway.

He was about to run towards the gap when another wave of pain hit him from head to toe, making him nauseous. This time the pain elevated his telepathy. He went from head to head, thought to thought, searching for something, anything to explain what this was. And he finally found his answer, searching a man named Vincent Adams, a family man with a wife and three children, all girls. He lived in Newcastle, Pennsylvania and had worked with S.H.I.E.L.D. for the past three years. He also had taken heroin in his teenage years and knew exactly what Michael was feeling. This was deprivation.

When he returned to his body he was kneeling, in front of his knees on the floor was a yellowish grainy puddle. The strong smell made him throw up again. Loosing all strength he fell face first toward it.

The last thing he noticed was an arm stopping his fall in time.

Then he blacked out.


	5. Vol1 Ch4 A Thousand Stars Burst Open

This wraps up both the Avengers Storyline, as well as the origin story to the OC.

**Now**

The sky was a shocking shade of blue, the sun was beaming a warm on the earth and bright white clouds were crawling from horizon to horizon like migrating turtles. Everything was serene and calm. Except the wormhole, of course, that sat in the center of the sky like a gaping chasm of doom, sprouting aliens, snake-whale hybrid monsters and whatnot.

Michael slowly turned his eyes away from that portal to hell and towards the ground, where things were hardly any better. He was standing on the roof of a blue Volvo that hadn't been yet blown up by those aliens and their flying motorcycles. The street he was in wasn't really the center of attention, though, a little debris, some apartment buildings, the occasional human fleeing from the destruction. But how did he get here, to this location in this exact moment in time?  
He felt more powerful than ever before, at ease with everything. He was free, if only for a brief moment. It was very different from just this morning.

* * *

**Earlier that day**

"We will be going wherever Loki is. We just need to find him first, which is why I am currently standing here, asking for your help."

Michael looked at the wristband they gave him. Proper hospital attire. He still felt sick, and everything hurt. But Nick Fury refused to let him take stronger medication, as he feared the consequences that might have for his psychic abilities. They just knew too little about anything. Standing before him, however wasn't the director of Shield in his black coat, eye patch concealing a hideous scar no doubt. It was instead a friendly face, even if that friendliness was just a farce. Tony Stark, in his usually laid back manner, sporting casual clothes, seemingly without a worry in the world. Everything was a game to this man.

"I can't control it. I'm weak most of the time. And then I loose control. I could kill more allies than enemies", speaking hurt as well.

Tony Stark didn't seem impressed and answered matter-of-factly: "We are currently on the lookout for the Hulk, which should give you an impression of how desperately we need some help."

That rang true, if the Hulk could be of use, so could he. He was far easier to control, even if he was also far weaker than the green rage monster.

"I'm in. But I'm not allowed to leave."

Tony shrugged, almost compulsively fiddling with a tiny, glowing gadget.

"Neither is any of us. We'll make room for you on the Jet."

* * *

**Two and a half years ago**

"Nick Fury."

The atmosphere in the small diner had been relaxed and mundanely quiet. There had been some chatter, some clattering noises coming from the kitchen.

After he had spoken the name all that had disappeared. The room was enveloped in a tense silence, everyone's eyes were on Michael at that moment, even the one eye from the person sitting at the window opposite a young woman with red hair.

"How do you know that name?", the question came from nick Fury himself, who remained sitting, but slid his hand under the table, no doubt grabbing a gun of some sort. Michael could see several customers and even employees do the same thing.

How much S.H.I.E.L.D. staff members were attending this 'secret' meeting?

Michael answered as calmly as he could: "I know many things. About your past. About the future. Things that could save the world when the time comes. I need to speak with you."  
Fury stood, hand out in the open again and said: "And I think I need to talk to a lot of people. Including you."

* * *

**Two hours in the future**

He was standing behind Hawkeye, who was pointing an arrow at Loki. To his left were Thor and Black Widow, to his right Captain America, the Hulk and Ironman. They had won, finally defeated this self-named god and his army of freaks. They finally felt like they accomplished something as a team.  
It was nice, finally having his place in the world. These people were all anomalies themselves, there was no boundary dividing them. They guarded Loki until S.H.I.E.L.D personnel arrived, placing his hands in some advanced shackles and taking the god into custody.

Finally Fury arrived, to discuss what was about to happen now.

Plans were discussed and they arrived at the conclusion to let Thor take Loki and the Tesseract back to Asgard. Everyone else was more or less given instructions to let things return to normalcy. Black Widow and Hawkeye were assigned their own missions, Tony Stark would return to his mansion, to do whatever he was doing in there. Rodgers was to lay low for a while, resuming his training and helping S.H.I.E.L.D. wherever he could. Michael himself was given permission to do whatever he wanted for a year, after which S.H.I.E.L.D. would resume experiments on him. It was a better deal than he had hoped.

But he was getting ahead of himself there, he still had the battle in the present to win.

* * *

**Now**

He was still standing on that car, trying to put every thought into place, so he could finally join the fight and perhaps even make a difference, when suddenly Steve Rodgers burst out an upper store window and landed on a car right next to his. Captain America didn't look good. He was bleeding from several wounds, he had apparently lost his mask and his face was a grimace of pain.

Michael shook his head and calmly floated towards his comrade, remarking absently: "It's all fun and games until someone starts an alien invasion, right?"

Rodgers sat up with a groan and gripped his shield, which had been laying on the ground. Then he answered in a low voice: "This isn't the time to be making jokes."

Michael landed next to the fellow Avenger, his mind was still racing, so he simply responded with a laugh.

He felt like thinking through a fog. Reason went out the window, he remembered his clash with Rodgers back on the helicarrier. Lazily he brushed back a stray dread and said: "I haven't talked to you since we were attacked."  
Rodgers looked up. He seemed surprised, and replied with a stern: "No."  
Michael fell into the mist, like a stone thrown into the lake he sank. His vision turned an unsettling shade of orange and he found himself scanning Steve Rodgers from head to toe. He really was a good looking person.

His lips moved without him actively noticing: "Thanks for catching me."  
Rodgers looked at him thoughtfully: "Your eyes are glowing."

* * *

**Someplace in time**

Michael stared at the door, it seemed normal enough, but he couldn't see past it. He couldn't sense what would happen if he went through it. And he didn't know if he should leave everyone behind like that. Natasha, Clint, Bruce, he would most likely never see any of them again. And he didn't want to think about the other one, what he was doing to himself by leaving.  
He reached out and lay his hand on the handle. At first it felt cool on his hand, then it warmed up until it almost burned him. The flaky green paint came off, revealing a glowing white surface. The light seemed to pour into the air around him, envelop him in a warm embrace. He opened the door, thinking about the life he was leaving behind for a last time.

A moment later he wasn't standing in the dark corridor any more, he was on a grassy area, looking at a large, dying tree. There were others with him. Firstly a boy with long, black hair and a cold shimmer in his eyes, who was looking at him with a certain interest. Also a Girl with brown hair, standing next to two young men her own age, all three dressed in hospital gowns. Then there were two adolescents with white hair, one of them sporting a creepy looking hand, that seemed out of this world in a sense. Leaned against a tree was a creature, very much like a human, with spectacular ears and purplish skin, next to it were two people who looked much like elves, with green glowing eyes, wearing golden and red robes. Lastly there were two girls, standing closely together, Michael sensed a psychic bond between the two of them. One of them was blond and, while pretty, nor remarkably so. The other one seemed fierce and determined, but not without a heart. It was then that Michael felt a hand on his shoulder and turned around. There was a man, bald and robed in a colorless tunic and having a bold wisdom about him, indicating he was much older than he appeared.

"Welcome", said the man, "To this journey."

* * *

**Now**

He felt the power flowing through his body, every second he was getting stronger. He followed Rodgers to a livelier street, keeping the streets clear from aliens and protecting bystanders. Soon enough Thor joined them, but the fight seemed pointless. For every invader they killed two more descended to the ground, not even counting the myriads of jets filling the skies.

Michael grabbed another Chitauri and hurled it into a nearby building, effectively crushing its skull. A laser beam fired at him was redirected back at the alien attacking him. Then Nick Fury spoke through the earpiece, informing them about a missile that was about to hit New York.

Another thirty seconds later he could sense Ironman, flying through the black hole, taking the missile with him. He didn't need to think, everything was clear. He lifted himself into the air, soon he was higher than the tip of Stark tower. As he approached the black hole he felt the surge of power dismantling, his mind seemed clearer, which made it harder to control the world around him.

He saw Stark falling to earth as the portal closed, and caught him, paying attention to gradually make him slower instead of killing him by stopping the fall too quickly.

He lay the Ironman down on Stark tower, next to Black Widow and began his own landing approach. He didn't have the strength to get to the platform himself, instead he lowered his body down to earth in a vertical line. As he lay himself down on the street he thought to himself that he hadn't really been useful in the fight. He was pretty sure they would have won without him.

Then, sleep took him.


	6. Vol 2 Ch5 Polar Winter

Michael's eyes shot open at a sudden noise. Which noise, he couldn't remember, but it had to have been something loud to rip him from his dream. The dream, as well, escaped his memory as soon as he woke. He slowly came to his senses, started to take in his surroundings. He was lying on his back, on a soft surface, under a soft cover. Probably a bed, possibly in a face he had seen before. Michael couldn't move his muscles, so his open eyes were staring at something above him. He tried to focus, but his brain refused to process what he was seeing. After another few minutes or so he finally realized that the pattern he was seeing were just tiles on the ceiling, straight black lines on a white backdrop.

He had already lost his sense of time, and couldn't begin to guess how long he lay there, when all of a sudden a blurry form entered his field of vision. His ears picked up a noise, probably a voice, but Michael couldn't quite make out what it said. So he tried to concentrate, read the talking person's mind and make out the words spoken, but only felt a stinging pain inside his head. Black dots appeared before his eyes, blinding him to anything happening above him. He felt something being pressed to his face, then a momentary lightheadedness. He was already half gone when they started feeding him sedatives through the tube in his arm.

* * *

This time Michael recognized the tiles above his face instantly. His head felt clearer, and most of his sense organs seemed to be working fine. He heard a familiar voice on his right and turned his head, pleasantly surprised that his muscles had started working again. They were sore, though, and moving them hurt like hell. Beside his bed, in front of a white door, was Tony Stark, wearing a face mask and a white coat.

"Can he hear us?", a man he didn't know was standing next to Stark, dressed like a doctor, maybe a fellow scientist, who could say.

Stark answered in a plain voice, with perhaps a hint of unease: "Who knows. He could have brain damage, - we might have damaged something in there. We know close to nothing about the way his brain works."  
Michael tried to answer, but all that came out was a gurgle. His throat was contracting, he felt panic rising in his head as he couldn't draw breath. His hands grasped something while flailing around and he pulled instinctively. The tube made a disgusting, wet noise as it left his windpipe. Air rushed into his lungs, relieving some of the stress on his chest, although his breaths were shallow and quick. He tried to get up, get away, still in panic, but unrelenting arms on his chest and wrist held him down. He looked up at the person holding him and recognized Clint Barton. All strength left Michael, and he fell back down on his hospital bed. Darkness took him once more.

* * *

When he regained consciousness for a third time Michael forced himself to keep his eyes closed. Darkness was better than seeing those goddamn tiles again. At least this time he wasn't breathing through a tube, and most of his muscles felt relaxed and ready to get back to work. He concentrated, tried to sense any human presence in the room surrounding him, but only sensed white noise. Maybe this meant that he was alone?  
He turned his head before opening his eyes and recognized the white door from last time, leading to a corridor no doubt. No one in front of it, nor on his other side. The room was empty, except for Michael himself. Tentatively he freed himself from the sheets and removed any needles still inside the veins in his arms. He breathed in, feeling free and refreshed.

The ground felt cool beneath his feet, smooth and foreign. Slowly, taking one step at a time, Michael walked over to the mirror by the sink, in one corner of his room. He was half afraid and half curious to see what had changed since they day he had passed out in New York. He remembered loosing his grip on time, before every thought in his head collapsed. When Michael looked up now he saw, once again, a ghostly face staring back at him.

The first thing he noticed were the eyes. Gone was the cloudy green color, his one feature he actually really liked. In its place was an amber tone, an orange gold, just brown enough to seem natural. He stared at it for a few seconds, not quite sure if he could believe what he saw, but his reflection didn't change and Michael gave up. Then he noticed his hair, or rather, the lack thereof.  
"Oh great."  
Hours of working on his dreads now seemed pointless, as he sported a clean buzzcut. Turning his head revealed the reason for this, as Michael was now able to see the ugly scar, reaching from his left ear to a point just above his neck. He didn't look bad by any means, considering all things he looked rather well. He certainly didn't look like himself.

Michael finally turned away from the mirror, leaving this stranger behind him, and walked slowly, but steadily towards the plain white door, when, without warning, a lock clicked and said door swung open. Now entering the room was Tony Stark, this time wearing a suit, sporting a large bag, which he lay down on the bed at once.  
"Well then Mister Smith", the genius scientist said in a very formal manner, "I think we can safely assume that you have recovered enough to leave the hospital. Which brings up the question of 'how' exactly that is possible. Would you mind joining me in Stark Tower to get to the bottom of that question?"

"What does S.H.I.E.L.D. think about that?", Michael's voice was raspy, his body wasn't used to talking any more.

"Fury just send out a message to all personal to evacuate the hospital quietly. Or that is what they think. I also believe the security cameras have just had a malfunction, which gives us exactly fifteen minutes to leave", Stark explained, opening the bag and taking out a few pieces of clothing. Michael walked over toward his former teammate and absentmindedly went through every article by itself.  
He put on a gray T-Shirt with the Stark Industries Logo imprinted on them and dark blue jeans.

"Is S.H.I.E.L.D. just going to let this slide?", he asked, while putting on black sneakers and a dark Jacket, also sporting the Stark Industries Logo and a hood framed by tasteless black fur.

Stark's face showed the hint of a smile and answered drily: "No, they seem to have lost all interest in you for the moment."

The only item left in the bag was a black woolen cap with a spectacular woolen pompom on top.  
"Really?", Michael regarded it for a moment, then stuffed it into the pocket of his jacket.  
"Suit yourself, I would rather wear this incredibly fashionable hat than show everyone that big, ugly scar on your head."  
They left the bag on the bed and walked down the empty corridor towards some stairs. Thinking about every step made his walk seem clumsy and awkward, so Michael brought up a subject he had been thinking about for some time now: "What exactly happened in New York?"  
Stark watched him closely, maybe out of concern for his temporarily fragile health, maybe looking for an emotional reaction: "You had a blackout on the battlefield. Cap brought you with him when we confronted Loki. You regained consciousness for a moment, before suffering an almost fatal brain failure. Fury and Banner believe this to be the effect of your unusual precondition, I think it is more likely the result of your history with substance abuse."  
Michael thought hat Stark was probably right, but he wouldn't admit that. Another thought crossed his mind and he instinctively asked out loud: "How did you cure me?"  
Stark shook his head: "We didn't cure you. I developed some nanobots while they had you in a coma. After about five month we injected them into your brain where they relived pressure and were responsible for some chemical reactions. I would explain it, but that would be a waste of my breath and your time. They should also dampen your abilities, which was Fury's request. But I have disabled that function about ten minutes ago, so your powers should return over time."  
Michael had expected as much, so he didn't inquire any further.

When they left the hospital he was momentarily stunned by the freezing air that hit him. _Right _he thought, _it is winter now._

* * *

Michael looked through the window of the black roadster that Tony was currently driving across the streets of New York. People, buildings, everything was quietly flying past him. He felt like he was still dreaming, maybe he was dying in that hospital and his mind was playing tricks on him.  
"Why are you suddenly interested in me?", he heard himself ask, "I don't think we have ever talked before."  
Tony didn't need time to answer the question and responded right away: "We may have never met, but I have worked for quite some time with you now."  
"You mean on me", Michael snapped out of his haze when they left the road and came to a halt on a parking lot behind some small bar called 'The Admiral Benbow'.

Inside Tony ordered some drinks and started talking about Pepper, his work and other things that didn't really spark any interest in Michael. After the first beer a question formed inside his mind: "Why are we drinking right now?"  
"I would like to see what that does on you."  
Michael furrowed his brow, already sipping his next drink: "Are you using me as an excuse to drink yourself?"  
"No."  
He let it go and the conversation returned to less serious topics.

* * *

Michael shuddered when the morning air hit him. It was cold and damp and he momentarily thought about going back inside Stark Tower. But he couldn't, he had to get out, breathe for a while. He didn't quite know where he was going or why, he just kept walking until his feet hurt. When he couldn't go any further he sat down under a large oak tree. After a while he fell asleep. He didn't remember his dream, just waking up, still under the tree, when a voice called out to him. A voice he instantly recognized as Steve Rodgers, yet another Avenger to meet him, seemingly coincidental. Had S.H.I.E.L.D. caught up with him ans thought throwing a former teammate in his path was going to make him return into their custody?  
"Are you all right?", Rodgers called out to him.  
He hadn't expected that greeting, as he was sure that Captain America was aware of how Michael had left the hospital. But maybe he was using the tactics of nice to keep him docile. Michael was sure that life wouldn't grant him even the smallest of favors, so he pushed himself up against the tree and scanned his surroundings for possible escape routes, while answering: "I'm good, just taking a nap."  
He was still mentally weak, he probably wasn't able to hold Rodger's down even for a second. His body felt fine, but even though Michael wasn't in a bad condition physically, neither short nor too slim in his built, he knew that he wouldn't be able to overpower or outrun the super-soldier turned superhero.

Rodgers came to a halt few feet away with his arms crossed in front of his chest. Why wasn't he trying to seize him? Michael tried to assess the situation, which felt unnecessarily complicated without his psychic powers. Rodgers was wearing a gray T-Shirt and blue tracksuit pants, maybe he was sincerely running laps. But it was unlikely for them both to meet here in the middle of New York just by coincidence.

When Michael didn't say anything further Rodgers asked the other tonelessly: "What are you doing here?"

Michael hated being read, so he avoided the Avenger's stare while trying to come up with a smart answer. When he didn't answer right away Rodgers broke the silence again: "They weren't pleased that you left the hospital. Stark is shielding you for the moment, but Fury will not just give you up. You should return to S.H.I.E.L.D. on your own before they arrest you."  
Michael forced a smile on his face and said sardonically: "They would have been here by now if they wanted to arrest me. Things are never that easy with S.H.I.E.L.D. Trying to return might do me more harm than good."  
Rodgers lost some of the severity in his expression then, remarking in a friendlier tone: "I will talk to Fury about this. You did help us in New York."  
At that moment, Michael became aware of a warmth in his guts, spreading through his body, which apparently clouded his judgment, as he heard himself asking Steve Rodgers to join him and Tony in the 'Admiral Benbow' that evening. And through the cloud of confusion over what he had just asked he heard Rodgers accepting his invitation.

Even when he was sitting in a taxi on his way to Stark Tower Michael was lost in thoughts on whether Cap had accepted out of his own will or under Michael's subconscious mind control. Was he even strong enough to do such a thing right now? Then, Michael decided to discard the thought.

Anyways, what was the worst that could happen.


End file.
